His Angel, His Fairy
by themagdelene
Summary: This is my take on what would have happened if Meg had come down to the Phantom's lair, while Christine was still there.


Disclaimer: All characters and their likenesses are property of Andrew Lloyd Webber, original character ideas are copyright of Gaston Leroux from Fantome De L'Opera. The song lyric used is from Evanescence's Hello.

Meg, as silent as she could be, stepped within the archway of the door that led into Christine's new room. It once belonged to La Charlotta but since the second hand soprano's flight, it had become Christine's. She closed the door behind her with a gentle snap, taking a worried look around the room. Christine had not answered the door when she first knocked, and when she tried to open it, the young ballerina had found it locked. So what did she do? She stole into her mother's room and took the skeleton key that her mother had been given by the previous Opera managers. As she looked around the room, she noticed something strange; a dim light coming from behind the mirror. As she came closer, she saw that there was a small crack in the window but not in the glass; in the frame, like it was hiding a door behind it. Carefully using her fingertips, she pried the door open and slid back the mirror to reveal the corridor beyond. She stared, her mouth delicately hanging open before stepping through the door and started to go down it, but she stopped mid step, turning back to look at the door way. She did not want to be stopped, so she moved back to the door to close it behind her.

Once the door was sealed shut behind her, Meg moved slowly down the wet and grimy looking tunnel that led deep into the catacombs that lay underneath the Opera Populaire. She had heard Joseph Buquet telling horror stories to the other ballerinas at night about the catacombs, saying that the Phantom had a lair here but she never believed them; until now, at least. Fear made her heart flutter in her chest, making her whole frame shake visibly. She came across a couple of rats and screamed audibly, her voice ringing in the hall to carry down it. As she continued to walk, Meg began to worry that someone had heard her scream but it soon disappeared as she reached the small, underground lake. She frowned heavily, dipping a foot into the water carefully. It was not too deep, thankfully. She waded through the water, her simple white practice tutu floating in the water around her. The water reached just past her waist, under her ample bosom. As she reached the end of the lake, Meg came upon a small gate that was left open and organ music floated from within. Curious and enthralled by the music that was coming from within, Meg walked slowly through the thick waters.

The lake became shallower as she moved through the gates, which opened up into a large room filled with candles, random pieces of useful furniture and dominated by a large organ where the music was coming from. Sitting at it on a bench, playing masterfully, was a man between forty and fifty years old but still in the prime of his life from what she could tell by his muscular and toned frame clad in a suit of fine making. He was playing Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, sometimes adding an artistic flare to some of the notes. She was entranced by the song, coming slowly closer but her footsteps were audible in the water. He turned quickly, and his eyes (one blue and one amber) widened obviously at the sight of the blonde girl. "I-" She stared but he lifted himself from his seat, smirking as he glided toward her.

"Hello, I am your mind giving you someone to talk to." The little lyric he sang was soft but haunting in its simple melody, making Meg shudder at the sound of his masterful baritone voice. It was raw and thick, like the purring of a big cat but lyrical. He had obviously practiced and studied for years, probably having taught himself, to get as good as he was. His voice echoed all around her, in the room and in her head. She backed up slowly, but ended up tripping over an unseen rock in the water and falling with a splash. The man, whom Meg assumed was this famous Phantom that everyone kept talking about, turned toward the smaller room just to the left of the organ but apparently satisfied with what he saw that, he turned back to Meg. "You're Antoinette's daughter, aren't you?" He asked softly, coming up to Meg and offering her his gloved hand with a gentle, charming smile. "I can see her in your face."

"Yes, she is my mother, Monsieur Fantome." Meg whispered softly, looking at his hand like it was a wild animal but she soon reached out to take it, allowing him to lift her up into a standing position. Her tutu and corset clung to her body, a well toned and lean body with long legs, narrow waist, and ample hips with matching bosom; a perfect hour glass. He looked her up and down in a appraising manner, nodding to himself with satisfaction. "Is Christine here? What have you done with her?" Meg said quickly, her voice heightening in pitch because of her worry and he quickly shushed her by placing a gloved finger to her lips.

"Your friend is fine. Just sleeping." He soothed gently, smiling down at the young woman. She was lovely, just like Christine but different. One an angel of dark countenance and the other, an alabaster beauty with golden hair. Such a beauty would surely have a husband within a few years if she was lucky. "Your worry is unfounded." He looked at her again, his searching and mismatched gaze making her shudder visibly but he took it as a shudder of cold. "Come, I will give you something warm to wear. Can't having you running around in wet clothing, especially with that pervert Buquet running around." He said with a light smirk, leading Meg out of the water. Yes, she looked good wet and he appreciated her form like any man would but he had a practiced control on his urges, especially after so long of being alone. She followed hum numbly, staring with wide eyes at him. He was so charming and handsome, the white mask adding an element of danger to his appearance. Joseph Buquet was full of merde, she thought to herself. Yellow parchment is his skin, indeed. "Wait here." He said as he left Meg by a small, red hued love seat before he disappeared into the bed area. She lifted herself onto her tip toes to peer past the black lace curtains, seeing the pale form of Christine in bed. She frowned heavily. Had he made love to Christine? Is that why she was sleeping now? Before her mind could wander too far, he came back with a pale pink dress; so pale that it looked white at first glance.

"This should fit you. It used to be one of your mother's costumes from her old ballet days. She might be surprised to see it. I don't think she knows I still have it." He said as he handed it to her, a smile on his face. She looked at it. It was a simple pink dress in the style of Grecian toga. She blushed a bit, holding it to her. "You can dress there." He said as he gestured to the bed area. "But mind you keep quiet, we don't wait to wake Miss Daae, do we?" Meg shook her head silently, before hurrying into the room. Once she was sure that he was not peeking in on her, Meg began to undress out of her wet clothing and put on the pink slip of a dress. It clung to her nicely, the one shoulder strap hanging off her arm while it left the other bare. She blushed vividly. It showed a lot of skin, not something she was used to but it had a long skirt, so she did not feel too exposed. She looked at Christine, who was muttering in her sleep as she always did. Meg leaned forward and gently brushed her friend's curls out of her eyes, making the brunette sigh in relaxation before nuzzling her face into the pillow underneath her head.

Smiling at the sleeping form of her best friend, Meg wandered out into the main room of the Phantom's lair once more. He was writing something currently, his shoulder length hair losing its slickness as it began to hang in his eyes. She slowly stepped up to him, clearing her throat. "Merci Be Coup for the dress, Monsieur Fantome." She said, giving a polite little curtsy, before standing up straight. He turned and looked at her, smiling. Yes, very beautiful indeed, he thought as he looked her over. But still, she was nothing compared to Christine in his eyes. It was a shame that Erik was so blinded by his want for Christine or he would have been laid dumbstruck by the sight of the beautiful, blonde angel.

"You're welcome." He replied with a gentle nod of his head.

"What are you writing?" Meg asked, curiosity in her voice as she tried to look over his shoulder at the papers scattered in front of him but he scooted them out of sight quickly.

"Oh, nothing important. Just a little project I'm working on." He said with a smile and a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "Tell me," He said, changing the subject suddenly and making Meg blink. "Are you the Prima Ballerina?"

"I am not sure." Meg said in all honesty. "The old Prima Ballerina has left long ago and gotten married, but they have not made the announcement on who is to be the new one yet. I think it would be me, but if La Charlotta comes back then it will surely go to Christine. She is a better dancer then me, she puts more emotion into her dancing."

"No, Christine will be the Prima Donna if I have my way." The Phantom replied smoothly. "And I doubt Christine is any better then you at dancing. Show me." He said with that disarming smile once more.

"I...there is no music." Meg said quickly, trying to evade him as best as she could. He merely shrugged and replied.

"I can play something you can dance to. Come," He smiled at her again. "It will be fun."

Before Meg could argue some more, the Phantom turned and began to play a simple but soulful tune on the organ. It soared in the proper places, lifting and swelling before dropping back down in a smooth, arching sweep of music. Still playing, he looked over at her still form and smiled encouragingly. "Dance." He said simply, before turning back to the organ and continuing the passionate song. Slowly, she let the song take hold of her and began to twirl in time with the music. Soon, she was so lost in her own, free form dance that she did not notice him stop playing and turn to look at her. He stared openly, watching as her toned and supple body swirled and leapt through the air like the nymphs of yore. Suddenly, he felt a want for the young maid; a want that was earthier then the want he had for Christine, which he likened to a soulful one. He saw her doing a dance of a sensual but playful design in his new Opera, one of Don Juan's whores probably. A small part, yes, but memorable. Once she was done, the Phantom clapped for her and she rose to a standing position, blushing vividly at his praise. She did not usually dance for just one person, and when she did, it was usually Christine.

"Merci." She whispered softly, bowing her head in thanks before lifting her head to look at him.  
>"I am the one who should be thanking you, Miss Giry." He soothed gently as he walked up to her. "I do not so often get a lovely dancing fairy in my midst." He said with a gentle, playful smile that reached his blue eye and made it shine, while the amber eye stayed strangely empty for some reason; like he did not have feeling in that side of his face for some reason. "But you should probably go, your mother will be looking for you. It is nearly four in the morning." He gestured to a small clock near by, making Meg gasp when she saw it. "Just follow the way you came and it will take you back to the dressing room."<p>

"What about Christine?" Meg asked, turning to look at the bedroom again.

"She will be fine, she is very safe." He gave a wink at her. "The angel of music has her under his wing." His words and mannerisms revealed that he had heard her and Christine singing that day in the chapel. She blushed even more, suddenly feeling ashamed for some reason.

"Can I at least know the name of the famous Fantome De L'Opera?" She said in a soft, hesitant whisper. The Phantom regarded her for a moment with an amused glance to his face.

"It is Erik." He replied after a moment of thought. "But woe be tide to you if you tell anyone." He said, his voice taking on a very slight forbidding tone, but it was mostly playful and mocking. He did not think she would tell anyone as Madame Giry had not told anyone his name yet. She shook her head quickly, making her still damp hair bounce in her face. He liked seeing her afraid of him, it thrilled him in a way that he could not explain; inspiring images of him stalking her and spying on her. Perhaps even while in the bath. He fought back a shiver.

"I won't tell anyone, Monsieur Erik." Meg assured him and slowly, she gave a nervous smile. "It is nice to know that you are not a ghost but a man after all. It is comforting." Erik smiled at her, coming closer to her and thankfully, she did not back up.

"And it was nice of you to come and visit me, Little Nymph." He soothed, before reaching forward and taking one of her slim, pale hands in his own gloved ones as he briefly marveled to himself about the sharp contrast that her pale skin offered in comparison to his black gloves. He brought the hand to his mouth and gently kissed the top of it, taking in a deep breath as he scented her. She smelt of lavender flowers and roses, the same as Christine. They must use the same soap. _Maybe they even bathed together?_ Said a wicked little voice in the back of his mind as a thrill went through him at the thought of those two, angelic women bathing together; Meg's hands running over Christine's back as she washed it. Yes, he'd like to see that. Yes, indeed. "But go, or I will be blamed for your disappearance as well."

Blushing vividly at the touch of his lips on her skin, Meg removed her hand from his and hurried away with a rustle of skirts.

As he watched her leave, Erik began planning out her dance routine in his mind for his opera. Humming vaguely to himself, he took a seat at his organ and began sketching out an interesting picture that depicted Christine and Meg in a deep soul kiss, with his masked face in the background. In a perfect world, he would have both of them; his angel and his fairy. But his thoughts soon turned morose and depressed. Meg would probably have a suitor soon, but he dashed it away as he reminded himself of how entranced Christine had been earlier and that boosted his confidence.

Meg may not be his, but he was bound and determined to have Christine; one way or another.

_But still, _that wicked voice said once more in his mind, _you want little Meg regardless._ _Do not deny it, at least not to yourself._

He did not.


End file.
